


006

by hamnet



Category: Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 22:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamnet/pseuds/hamnet
Summary: It’s no Holy Grail War Cú Chulainn was summoned into, but a simple war more devastating than the ones he’s ever been.He’s been summoned not to fight for a Holy Grail, but to aid his Master in protecting as many people as possible—even the soldiers of this war.





	006

**Author's Note:**

> late night spontaneous oneshot written in two hours and not beta read quick and non-dramatic summary: cu is summoned to be the servant of one (1) shirou emiya whos past the point of no return after making a contract with alaya. hes virtually archer at this point, and cu keeps getting hit by nostalgia (?) left and right by how much shirou reminds him of This One Guy He Cant Remember(tm)(c)
> 
> anyway its 4 am

In a small, crumbling house is a haven. Every crack on the wall, fallen debris, and broken glass is a part of this haven. In one corner of this small, crumbling house is a lone oil lamp, hanging from a crudely hammered nail on the wall, and outside of the haven are earthquakes that further deepens the cracks that snake around the house.

The oil lamp is not enough to fight the darkness creeping in this haven. There are earthquakes outside, but not before the booming sounds that leave a crater on the land and another irreplaceable lives lost. With every quake, the lamp sways side to side, leaving animated shadows on the walls as dust and small, harmless debris rain down on the people huddled inside.

These are all the humans remaining in this village, one that’s been unfortunately caught in a crossfire. They’re tired and caked in dirt, afraid of the smallest sound, horrified of the booming sounds that threaten to collapse this place over them. Cú Chulainn watches them as they nervously look at each other every time there’s an explosion outside, and he does not miss the way they all flinch whenever an explosion too close to this haven they are all holed up in. The oil lamp squeaks every time it swings, and Cú Chulainn can only put up with the noise so much before he stands up from the spot he’s sitting on, the ground nearest to the only exit in the house, and he makes his way to the back of the house.

The nervous humans whisper alarmingly to one another, and Cú stops and turns to face them, casually scratching his neck. These civilian clothes he’s forced to wear are too itchy for comfort. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he says, as patient as he can manage. “I’ll just talk to your leader. No one’s gonna come barreling inside while I’m gone.” When they don’t look comforted by that, he tries for a smile. “Promise.”

It’s a poor excuse and will not ease their worry, but, at the very least, it isn’t a lie. Cú leaves them, heads deeper inside the house, until he spots a lone figure in the darkness, standing in front of a broken window. They’re tall, with dark skin and silvery short hair with a few streaks of auburn. Get rid of those streaks and slick back that hair, and he’ll look like someone Cú might be familiar with.

He isn’t sure who, though. The memory is blurry.

Cú is already lucky he even remembers anything from his previous summon.

The man has a white, tattered robe over him, and on the hand pressed against the wall is the familiar set of Command Spells. “You’re supposed to be watching the front door,” he says, his voice a deep baritone, hardened from a heavy burden. He’s still looking outside the window, and Cú snorts.

From the way the other’s tone shifts, he isn’t pleased with Cú’s reaction, and he finally turns to face Cú. “Lancer, I mean it.”

“Relax, Master,” Cú replies, “it’s not like the bounded field can be penetrated.” He raises his hand to knock his index finger on the fragile wall. All it does is make the ceiling above him rain dust and flakes of dirt on him. He continues as if nothing happened. “My bounded field can block even Noble Phantasms, remember?”

“I’m more worried about intruders,” the man says, frowning, and Cú watches at the way the other’s uniquely-shaped brows furrow together. It’s oddly familiar, and it’s oddly fascinating. “Your bounded field can block intruders?”

“Well,” Cú says, “no.” There’s an explosion, then another shaking, and he shrugs. “Can’t really expect one when the people outside are firing missiles and stuff all over the place.”

The man stares at him for another second, then he sighs, shaking his head and looking outside the window again. Cú counts this as a victory, and he approaches his Master.

He looks outside, at the scene his Master is looking at, and there is nothing but a desert wasteland, made even barer by the flames of an ongoing war by this era’s humans.

It’s no Holy Grail War Cú Chulainn was summoned into, but a simple war more devastating than the ones he’s ever been.

He’s been summoned not to fight for a Holy Grail, but to aid his Master in protecting as many people as possible—even the soldiers of this war.

It doesn’t make any sense to him, trying to save both sides, but whatever makes his Master happy, he supposes.

They both stand in silence, watching as the scene unfolds before them: smoke snaking out from a burning house; the ground bursting from the inside; and people, young and old, laying still, with dark liquid staining the land. When Cú spares a glance to his Master, he finds he can’t read the other’s expression at all.

“…So,” Cú starts, “what’s the plan now? We were supposed to evacuate tonight, but—” He gestures towards the broken window. “That plan’s been blown to pieces.”

His Master turns to him, unreadable expression turned to disapproval, and Cú’s little grin fetters to a thin line.

“Yeah, I know, uncalled for,” he mutters. “My bad.”

His Master shakes his head and mutters something to himself—Cú catches _Saber_—and then his Master is addressing him. “We can’t wait this out anymore.”

At that, Cú raises his brows, perplexed, then, “...are you planning to continue with the evacuation?”

“What? _Of course not_.” Even his Master seems taken aback at that, so Cú is reassured that he isn’t stupid. His Master looks outside once again, and he frowns. “We have to stop their fighting,” he says. “There’s going to be more casualties on both sides if we wait any longer. I can’t allow that.”

Oh, scratch that. Cú Chulainn’s Master is _insane_.

Cú snorts, then he laughs, so hard that he bends to rest one hand on his knee, harder than he ever remembers in his life, and he’s still chuckling when he says, “you? Going to—going to stop _this?”_

An explosion too close to their haven hits. One part of the ceiling in the room Cú and his Master are in collapses, revealing the sounds of gunfire and bullets flying through the air, and horrified screaming is heard in the other room.

“How do you plan to go about doing that?” Cú says.

His Master doesn’t look swayed, and he stands as if he wasn’t almost buried alive by rubble and cement, as if he’d _still_ stand tall even if he were. He raises his chin at Cú.

“Cú Chulainn,” he says, “I have you, don’t I?”

It’s a straightforward answer, as obvious as how grass is green and how the sky is blue. It isn’t the answer Cú is expecting, but, somehow, it sounded right in his ears.

In truth, the moment he had seen his Master, Cú expected a man so spiteful he’d hate him, yet he’s taken aback by how earnestly naïve his Master is; so, very stubborn, with ideals unclouded by doubt, yet still embraced by misery and cynicism. This man is so familiar, but _not at all_. It confuses Cú Chulainn, but he finds himself grinning widely at his Master as the man raises his hand that contains his Command Spells.

“By the power granted to me by this Command Spell,” his Master says, and one red stroke shines crimson. “Stop this fighting at once. Leave no casualties.”

The power surges within Cú Chulainn. The wind howls around him as bright blue peels the civilian clothing he wears into his armour, until Gàe Bolg materialises in his hand. He spins his spear in his hand, winks at his smirking Master, and he jumps through the hole that was once the ceiling of their fragile, little haven.

\--

The Hound of Culann made his name by killing his enemies, regardless of who they are and how he cares for them, but in this war, he’s only meant to spare his enemies, regardless of who they aren’t and how little he cares for them.

**Author's Note:**

> i sleep


End file.
